We sang the next verse, keeping up the finger snapping and the harmonizing. We were having a great time. We were totally in our element. We kept close to the front of the stage so we could be heard. Still, we wove in and out of the line laterally, our movements in time to the snapping of our fingers. When it was my turn to weave through to the end, I caught Fleur’s eye and winked at her. She smiled, never missing a note. We could have just stood there on stage not moving at all, but I wanted the shimmering gold of our dresses to catch in the spotlights like royal jewels. These girls were the jewels of the court. Tonight, they deserved to shine.
Genevieve sang the chorus the second time. Then we stopped in place to sing the bridge. I loved hearing our voices rise in harmony. Then it was Nicole’s turn to sing the chorus while we shifted once more on the stage until we were back in our original spots. The rest of us harmonized parts to Nicole’s melody. We stopped once again while each of the girls echoed each other, voices ringing with words that one day even they could rule a kingdom such as this. Then I finished the song solo, discarding such a dream as a fantasy. The last note hung in the air as we snapped our fingers in unison one last time.
We looked out at our audience. When they realized the song was finished, they clapped and stomped their feet. I looked up to see the king and queen smiling. I noticed Charles had slipped away. Good I thought. It’s almost time for our piece. The King actually winked at me, and I knew he was pleased with our performance. After numerous bows and hand waves, we exited the stage and went behind it once more to take off our tiaras and sashes. We all hugged each other, squeezed hands, and grinned.
“I think we did it!” Fleur exclaimed, bouncing on her feet excitedly.
“Well, we were certainly better than Spain,” Genevieve confirmed, and winked at me. It made me laugh out loud, it was so out of character.
“Here,” Nicole interjected, handing everyone a cup of ale, and me my water. “Let us toast to our best performance ever.” We all raised our cups, clunking them together since they weren’t made of glass and didn’t exactly clink. We all took a sip.
I raised mine again. “And to Chantal, Louise and Fleur,” I added, “the best girl percussion section of the century.” The only female percussion section in this century, I chuckled to myself as I raised my water bottle, and we all cheered again.
“Pardon, ma’moiselle,” one of the king’s guards tapped me on the elbow. I turned, knowing what he would say.
“Yes?” I inquired, for the benefit of the girls, I felt them quiet down next to me.
“The king has requested that you, alone, indulge us with one more song,” he declared. I looked around the circle with what, I hoped, was a confused face, and shrugged my shoulders. The guard cleared his throat, so I looked at him again. “He asked that I give you this,” he added, handing me my lute.
I took it from him and nodded my head. Throwing one last look at my group of friends, I shrugged my shoulders and turned to follow him back on the stage. I lifted the leather strap over my head and settled it on my shoulder so I could play it while standing up. I walked to the right side of the stage and looked up at the candles still twinkling. They cast a pretty, romantic glow to the stage, just as I’d hoped. The crowd looked on expectantly, some puzzled that I was up here on my own.
I looked out to the king and queen, smiled, and nodded. I hoped my spotlight boys were watching for that cue. I took a deep breath and picked a set of chords on my lute. The spotlight lit up then, and I could see its soft circle around the edge of my dress. Gently, I began singing the song I’d fallen in love with that I’d secretly listened to every night since Leonardo recharged my iPhone battery. I’d come to think it was written especially for Charles and me. I knew that every time I heard it I would think of him.
It was Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud”.
As I was about to sing the second half of the first verse, another lute could be heard on the opposite side of the stage. A beautiful tenor voice came in. A second spotlight found Charles, and I smiled as I heard the audience gasp. I would have loved to see the king and queen’s reaction, but I only had eyes for one–he was across the stage from me. We slowly walked toward one another. I added my voice to his, singing harmony above his melody. As I looked at him, I truly did wonder at the many ways people fall in love, and at how crazy it was that I was walking toward a 16th-century prince, meaning every single word that we sang together.
The spotlights followed us until we met in the middle where we stood facing each other and the lights became one. We split up the next verse, each of us singing a few lines until the chorus where we harmonized once again. I watched his face and tried to memorize everything about it, about him, about this moment. Would I remember when I was gone? Would it change the love I felt for him? I felt the words I was singing: I would still love him. I was positive I would spend the rest of my life thinking about him. I felt my heart beating out of my chest with the love I felt for him. I hoped he could feel it too. It seemed as if we were the only two people in the world, he and I, caught up in the moment, serenading each other. We stood under a dome of stars and flickering candlelight. I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms like we had been on the bell tower.
Without recognizing it, we’d moved toe to toe as we we blended our harmony into unison. The love we’d just sung was visible between us. Love had found us, in this crazy foreign land, centuries apart, yet right where we were, together. We stood frozen in time, staring at one another.
“I love you, “he whispered for only me to hear.
The audience responded with deafening applause. It felt like an earthquake the ground was being pounded so hard. Charles reached out to put his arm around me as I moved toward him, but I stumbled against his side.
“Are you OK?” he murmured in alarm, looking at the ground to see what had made me trip.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, perplexed. “My legs feel funny. Like I can’t feel them at all.”
“Here, lean into me. My Father is making his way to the stage.” I saw the king then, bounding up the stairs. Charles handed off our instruments to his guard right before the king joined us on stage and gathered us into one big bear hug. He patted Charles on the back, and then grabbed me and spun me around for another hug. I nearly fell when he set me back down on the stage because I honestly couldn’t feel my feet. Was I tired? Well, yes, but I’d never actually fallen over because of fatigue. Thankfully, Charles caught me before the king noticed anything was amiss. He turned to address the audience.
“My dear friends and visitors, I thank you for coming from near and far to participate in our month-long festivities, and especially, for this special Festival tonight!” He opened his arms wide to encompass everyone standing before the stage. “I would also like to thank the fine musicians who entertained us this evening.”
I sincerely hoped he’d get on with it because I really, really needed to sit down. I was feeling very odd, and I couldn’t figure out why. I’m sure I just needed to rest. Maybe it was a drop in adrenaline or something. I had been going full force for weeks. It was bound to catch up to me. I tried to concentrate on what the king was saying, but his voice seemed to go in and out. I think he just bestowed some land and a title on one of the performers, but I couldn’t be sure.
“And now, the moment you have all been waiting for,” he announced with great relish. “I know you have all come to find out who will win my son’s hand in marriage.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the performers standing near the front of the stage.
I was so happy to see the faces of my girls.. Where were Nicole and Genevieve though? I couldn’t see them in the crowd. They might be attending the queen while the king was up here. I tried to concentrate on the king again. He was explaining how they had judges throughout the crowd and that they had all cast their votes for the winner of the Festival de la Musique.
“I am pleased to announce that the winner is,”–He paused for dramatic effect.–“our own, Isabelle
Blanchet!” He grabbed my arm and raised it in the air. The crowd erupted with applause and the king held my face in his hands, kissing both cheeks.
Chapter 22
“NOOOOOOOOO!” A screeching yell sounded behind us. All of a sudden, someone yanked the back of my dress. I heard it rip behind me.
“Nicole!” Charles yelled. “What do you think you are doing?” Nicole? Was she coming to help me? I looked over my shoulder, trying to see what was going on.
“I’m proving to you that she is not worthy of a crown,” she shrieked cruelly. I barely recognized her angry face. She looked nothing like the happy Nicole I knew. How could this be?
“Guards, seize her!” the king pointed toward Nicole.
“No!” She whirled on them and then pointed to my back where the fabric had been torn. I could feel the cool air against my skin. “She cannot marry the prince.” She continued screaming. My brain seemed fuzzy, like I was watching the whole scene from an out of body experience. Who was this person? Was this my friend? My best friend? The one who gave me her dresses, who shared everything with me? Then she pointed at my back, and yelled “Look!” to all those standing around. Suddenly I knew what they were looking at.–the one thing I felt sure I had hidden so well from everyone. Except, of course, she was with her maid that first day when they dressed me. She would have seen it then, yet she never said anything.
“It is a mark of evil.,” she accused me. “See for yourself.” She encouraged the king. I looked up into Charles’ face and shook my head.
“It’s not what you think,” I whispered, struggling to get the words out. There it was for all to see, under my right shoulder blade, a small tattoo. A butterfly made out of musical notes. I knew what someone would think in this time period seeing a mark like this, not understanding what it was. I had taken great pains to cover it up when dressing.
“She’s a witch!” She let the final hammer drop; the magic word to stir up a frenzy.
The crowd below the stage, who moments ago cheered me on, now became hostile. I felt the energy in the air switch almost immediately. Charles started to step away from me, but I couldn’t hold myself up. Something was clearly wrong, but I didn’t know what. I couldn’t feel my legs at all. He grabbed me before I fell. Then I saw Genevieve rush to his side and whisper something in his ear. Now what? Were they all in on a conspiracy to have me burned at the stake? She took my face in her hands and looked into my eyes. I could see worry etched in her features. The realization hit me. I’d been wrong this whole time. It wasn’t Genevieve who hated me. It was Nicole.
The king told Charles to get me back to the castle, so he swept me into his arms. We barely got off the stage before it was mobbed by the people wanting to get at the witch. I looked at Nicole and saw a look of triumph on her face. I could only shake my head sadly. I had loved her like a sister.
I bounced up and down as Charles ran with me in his arms. I heard Genevieve talking to him as she kept up. I could make out words here and there. Hemlock. Poison. Water. And then I understood. Nicole had poisoned my water. “Leonardo,” I croaked, trying to get Charles’ attention. I willed my hand to grasp his so he would hear me. “Take me to Leonardo’s,” I gasped again.
“He might have a cure,” Genevieve suggested. They immediately switched course, passed through the gardens, and ran for da Vinci’s home. I didn’t know how much time I had, but it wasn’t a cure I sought. The poison seemed to be working fast. My legs felt paralyzed. My fingers felt numb. My brain already felt foggy, but I struggled to stay focused. I have to get back, I said to myself over and over. I have to get back. If I could just get to the tunnel, I knew Leonardo could get me back. And if I got back, I’d have modern medicine on my side. Genevieve ran ahead and pounded on the doors. I knew he’d be here. He was already expecting me. Leonardo answered the door himself, and looked at our sad, strange group in alarm.
“What has happened?” he asked.
“Tunnels. Now, Leo. Now,” I pleaded. He immediately turned and we ran to his special room while the others filled him in on what had happened. The tapestry was already swept aside, the door open in preparation.
“Here,” Leonardo said, as he threw a satchel across Charles’ shoulders. I have no idea what was inside it, but it must have been something he wanted me to take back. He grabbed a wall sconce and beckoned to the tunnel. “The device?” he asked me as we wound our way through the passages, like mice in a maze.
“In my pocket,” I assured him. Charles looked at us with questions in his eyes. He didn’t say a thing as Leonardo found my pocket and pulled out my iPhone. Charles jerked in surprise as Leonardo flipped the flashlight on like I taught him. Genevieve gasped and I knew she was still with us. Leonardo tucked the phone in my hand and I held onto it as tightly as I could.
“Are you ready?” he asked me. I could feel the hum already, the pull. I knew that when we turned the next corner it might be like stepping into a giant vacuum.
“No,” I replied honestly. “But I have to.” He nodded.
“What are we doing in here? What is this thing in her hand,” Charles finally asked. “Will we find a treatment for her? Will she live?” he worried.
“Yes, yes,” Leonardo reassured him. “Just yell for help when you get there.” he added.
“When we get where?” Poor Charles. There was no way to explain it now. And I was losing the battle to keep my mind clear. We turned the corner and the wind kicked up. It started to whirl about around us. Leonardo stopped and held onto Genevieve’s arm to pull her to a stop too. Charles kept running. I looked over his shoulder.
“Bye, Leo,” I croaked. I glanced at Genevieve. Her hand was over her mouth and tears were in her eyes.
“Sorry,” she mouthed. I nodded.
“Me too,” I whispered back. Sorry for a friendship that never was, but should have been. Abruptly a bright light flashed and the hum intensified to a roar. I felt Charles hesitate, so I grasped his hand again.
“Run, Charles. Run into the light. Please,” I begged. I pointed my flashlight into the circle of mirrors. Immediately, we felt ourselves pulled into space. Charles tucked my head close and shielded my body with his. I felt like we were spinning head over foot. I held on as tightly as I could, but I’d lost the feeling in my arms.
It’s strange, the little details that flit in and out of your mind when you know you’re dying. I thought in my mind’s eye I would see my life play like a silent movie in my head. But no, it’s these little details I grasp at, hoping they will stop the burning sensation in my abdomen and the numbness in my limbs. I cling to these details, each and every one. The flash of light in the dark tunnel. The strong arms keeping me from falling. The heartbeat strong and steady next to my cheek. The sound of feet hitting the stone floor and running, running, running. A voice that seems so far away, calling for help, a doctor, a hospital. It keeps calling.
Suddenly the running stops. I hear other voices around me now. I don’t know who they are. My mind is foggy. I try to open my eyes. Everything is a blur of color and movement. My eyes close again. I can’t keep them open. Someone touches my face and pleads for me to look at him, stay with him. I try to lift my head to find the voice. I feel like I’m stuck in molasses. It takes every ounce of determination I have to open my eyes again and look.
I see his face. That face I’ve grown to love. The dark stubble lining his cheek. I ache to reach out and touch it, but I can’t move my arm. The blue eyes burn into mine.
All of a sudden, something in my hand buzzes out of control. I slowly turn my head, look down, and see it in my hand: my iPhone, lighting up all on its own, buzzing with hundreds of notifications. Seconds before the darkness takes over, the thought hits me.
I’m home.
Historical Fact vs Fiction
First of all, dear readers, thank you so much for reading my book and leaving me fantastic reviews on Amazon (hint, hint…wink, wink).
All my life writing teachers hammered into my head that if we w
anted to write, we should start with what we know. This would always cause one of those huge comic question marks to pop up above my head because honestly, what did I know? Or at least the things I did happen to know, I was sure no one would be interested in. Then I was reading an author’s notes at the end of a book one day, and for the life of me I can not remember the book nor the author, but if by some small miraculous chance you also read my book, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Because what this wonderful author said was something to the effect of “write what you know and embellish the rest with imagination.” Suddenly that floating question mark above my head turned into a massive illuminated light bulb, and the heavens seemed to open and angels started singing “hallelujah”—OK really it was just the voice in my head yelling DUH! (Angels would have been preferable.)
So this story was born with wild imagination and a few things I know. Like sixteen year old girls. My first sixteen year old girl is now 21 and my second girl turns sixteen this year. I’ve been telling daughter number 2 for years to get herself a YouTube channel. In fact, both of them are amazingly talented musicians, which they will be embarrassed about me stating right here. Deal with it my cuties!
I also happen to know a bit about the beautiful country of France. The first time I visited, I had just graduated from high school. The second time, I went to study art as a college student. The third time, I stayed and lived there for 10 years. In all those years, I visited the Loire Valley many times. I’ve always been intrigued by the 16th century and every visit felt like being pulled back in time. Lastly, my fascination with Leonardo da Vinci started in Art History, again, back in college when I was studying to become an artist. But seriously, who isn’t fascinated by Leonardo? I knew I needed him to be in my story. However, this is where my imaginative embellishments had to be employed.
Rewind Page 20
